It was the battalion basketball championship pitting LT Castlebury's team representing Foxtrot Coy against Lt Eggleston's team from Echo Coy. The score was tied at 22 with 30 seconds left in the game. Brett had called a time out and had gathered his team around him “Okay, we all know who is going to take the last shot”, he said looking directly at CPL Riggs. “I want to hold the ball until there's five seconds left. Then we run this play”.

Brett scratched out the play's design on the note pad he used during games. It was just a simple double screen to free Riggs up. From there it was up to him. The game restarted and Castlebury kept his eye on the crude timer intended for use in developing x-rays. AT five seconds his team executed the play perfectly. Riggs dribbled past the defenders and pulled up for an eight foot shot just before the buzzer sounded.

James West was on the outbound leg of his assigned search arch. Unlike most days when he expected to find nothing but empty ocean, today he was actually looking for something in particular. LCDR Gallaher had briefed him just before he took off that they were expecting guests this morning. He was now about 200 nm east of Enterprise and was scanning the ocean surface out near the horizon.

There! At first it was just white specks in the ocean indicating the location of the wakes behind ships. Slowly they white specks defined into black dots. Eventually the black dots evolved into the shape of warships. James could easily count eight ships now. Suddenly two black objects appeared out of the sun directly in front of his SBD. James had been so fixed on the sea surface that he forgot to scan the sky. Two stub-winged Grumman fighters now roared past him – one on each wing. James waggled his wings to acknowledge their presence while cursing himself for letting them get that close before seeing them.

“Pelican Base, this is Pelican Eight”, James said as he cued his mic. “Company's coming for dinner”.

That was the code LCDR Gallaher had given him for when he spotted the Yorktown TF. The USN's carrier power in the South pacific had just increased to four.

For fifty days Swordfish had been at sea patrolling the waters south of Japan. In those fifty days the Japanese had conquered nearly the entire island of Luzon. The American and Filipino troops had been chased into the Bataan Peninsula and it was doubtful they would be able to hold out much longer. Swordfish tied up alongside AS Canopus and immediately began refueling and taking on stores. There would be no showers or shore leave for the officers and crew. Japanese air raids were a daily occurrence and Admiral Hart did not want to lose a sub in port.

LT(JG) DJ Haskins was supervising the transfer of food and other vital supplies on the main deck when PO2 Brown walked up to him.

“Good news, Lieutenant”, he smiled. “Through some miracle of God, the Canopus actually had the part we need to get the desalinization plant fixed.”

“Brown”, DJ answered. “That is about the best goddamn news I've heard since this war started.”

By late evening, Swordfish had cleared her moorings and was headed back out to sea. The prospect of fresh water for showers and laundry overwhelmed the disappointment of not being able to stay in port for at least a few days rest. Besides, the atmosphere on Bataan was oppressive. The air was thick with the essence of defeat. To a man, the crew of the sub wanted to get as much distance as they could from that place as quickly as possible

The urgency to start the upgrade of the current USN destroyers is only growing. German U-boats are now off the East Coast and sinking an alarming number of merchant ships. Things are not much better in the Pacific as Japanese subs are doing equal damage all across that theater. LT(jg) Greg Cummins has been spending the last few days putting manifests in order. The Sims class destroyers in the Atlantic would all be upgraded at various shipyards surrounding the Hampton Roads. The Pacific fleet ships were for now scheduled to upgrade at San Diego, but that could change at any moment.

Greg had just finished briefing CAPT Lawrence on the progress of the project. Even though he ultimately wanted to get a combat billet, feeling like he was accomplishing something truly important was helping him accept his current position. For now, he “drove a desk”, but he still prided himself in his work. He saw other men at the Yard who he could tell did not share this kind of dedication and it angered him deeply. Other men were fighting and dieing at this very moment. They deserved better than some of Greg's coworkers were giving them

The base was on full alert. All the false alarms over the past few weeks lost there meaning today. The USCG cutter Alexander Hamilton had been torpedoed by a U-boat almost within site of the port. The close proximity to shore raised fears that the U-boat may have dropped off spies or saboteurs before or after its attack. Patrols were organized and sent out immediately.

1stLT Bret Castlebury had set up a makeshift platoon HQ near the point were he had seen the whale a few days ago. He had three patrols moving along the shoreline to the southwest of his position. Normally Bret would have led a patrol himself but he needed to be in a position where he could control the movements of his men. Night had fallen and visibility was not more than a few yards in any direction. The chances of finding an German infiltrator was about as close to zero as was possible. Bret wondered what his Coy Commander, CPT Eschenberg, was thinking when he ordered 3rd Platoon to “aggressively patrol” this section of the coastline. Truth be told, Bret knew his men had a better chance of “aggressively getting lost” more than anything else.

The bridge of SS Swordfish was suddenly a hive of activity as the crew secured the AA machine guns and other equipment. The last man dropped through the hatch less than 30 seconds after DJ's initial sighting. The aircraft did not appear to see them at first which gave the boat the precious seconds it needed to secure for the dive.

While Swordfish had not been able to prosecute any targets on her second patrol, things were certainly more interesting in the Formosa Strait. The sub was constantly being hounded by patrol aircraft based on Formosa. They had caught sight of a couple of convoys but, as yet, had not been able to close within firing range. Despite the frustration at not attacking the enemy, the crew of the boat were sharp and on their toes. The boat was running at peak efficiency and it was only a matter of time before their chance would come.

Like most cities, San Francisco had several large movie theaters that had been built (and were owned) by the studios. These buildings were without fail opulent testaments to the power of the studios in what would eventually be called the “Golden Age of Film”. The Orpheum Theater was both the largest and most ornate of those in the Bay area. Tonight, the film “They All Kissed the Bride” was showing. It was about a woman named MJ Drew (played by Joan Crawford) who inherited her family's prosperous business. Consumed by her new found power, she becomes a vicious tyrant who runs over anyone in her way. In the end she is saved by a young adventurous journalist played by Melvyn Douglas. Hank Tyler escorts Emily Stebbins out the front door of the theater after the show. They turned up Market Street heading towards her family's home.

“Can you believe the coincidence that I would take you to see that particular film”, Tyler begins.

“I don't think I am following you”, she replies innocently.

“Really? You don't find it interesting that I took you, Miss Emily Stebbins of the San Francisco Stebbinses, to see a movie about a wealthy heiress?”, Tyler replies incredulously.

“Lieutenant Tyler, am you insinuating that I am San Francisco's version of MJ Drew?”, she says with mock offense.

“Well, you are an heiress and you can be ruthless”, he says with a smile.

“Oh and I suppose you are my Melvyn Douglas coming to save me from myself?”, Emily says playfully.

“Hey, if the shoe fits”, Hank says enjoying the moment.

“Perhaps, my young lieutenant, it is I who have come along to rescue you from yourself”, she replies as she mocks walking away in a huff.

“Perhaps she's right”, Hank thinks as he quickens his pace to catch up to her.

We have come to the end of the second month of the war. Most of our cast of characters are not in harm's way as of yet. That will change very soon.

I need to say two things about our story going forward. The first is that up to this point I have been rotating equally among our five USNA grads. I wanted to build the charactes a bit and flesh out everyone's tale to this point. That will now change as events of the game will be more and more represented. So, some characters may disappear for a while as attention is turned to those who are in the action at the moment.

The second is that I am struggling with which voice I am using in telling the tale. I had for the most part been using the past tense. I have decided to switch to the present tense. So "DJ was standing watch" will become "DJ is standing watch". I did this because I want the story to feel like I am descibing events as they take place vice a history of what had happened. I came to this decision accidentally as I found myself writing some episodes in each tense. I settled on present for the reasons noted above. That said, these next few months of posts are going to be switching back and forth a lot as I transition. I hope this does not preovide too much of a distraction for the audience.

The USN carriers were finally on the hunt. With Yorktown's arrival, Admiral Halsey felt he had the strength to contest the next Japanese move into the Solomons. The trip had already cost the Navy an oiler that was sunk off New Caledonia by a Japanese submarine yesterday. Hopefully that would not come back to haunt the CVTF before all was said and done.

LT(jg) West was patrolling north and west of the center of the four task forces. James was glad for his luck because he knew that if the IJN was going to appear, it would be from that direction. His eyes were rotating from the sea surface to the sky around the SBD to the instrument panel and them back to the sea. Even though he caught some ribbing after being “jumped” by the F4Fs, he considered it a blessing in disguise. It had taught him the valuable lesson of not becoming fixated on one object while on patrol.

He tried to impress that lesson on the Three Bobs the next night in their cabin. He feared they did not take him seriously. Then again they were having far too much fun reminding him how he was “shot down” by friendly fighters.

With all the preparations for the Sims Class conversions well in hand, Captain Lawrence had put LT(jg) Greg Cummins back to work on the other classes. At present he was trying to figure out the Benham Class. Unlike the Sims, this class had its twin banks of torpedo tubes mounted just aft of midships port and starboard. That particular location is where the K-guns were to be mounted on both the Sims and the soon to be commissioned Fletchers. The need to keep the explosion charges used by the depth charge throwers away from the 825 lbs of Torpex in each torpedo was self evident.

Greg scanned the blueprint looking for a place. Unfortunately the only functional position was abaft the after deck house. They would have to put the two mounts on each side much closer than had been the practice up to then, but given the choice between cramped quarters and an on board torpedo explosion the choice was obvious. He picked up the blueprint and headed to Capt Lawrence's office. Greg wanted to get his input on the matter

The officers of Swordfish were crammed into the wardroom for breakfast. The cooks had made corned beef hash, eggs, and bacon with fresh biscuits. DJ Haskins had caught a quick nap after his midwatch turn on deck and was now famished. As he scarfed down a large plate of hot food, the steward refilled the coffee. DJ watched with appreciation that even though the boat was pitching in heavy seas, the steward did not spill a drop. Sometimes just the act of successfully navigating the food from the plate to one's mouth could be difficult in heavy seas.

“Thank you”, DJ said with sincere appreciation.

“Your welcome, sir”, he answered. “Do any of you gentlemen have need for seconds”.

A combined groan went up from the table indicating all had had enough. The officers finished their meal and filed out. Not a one of then gave thought to the man who cleaned up their mess and prepared the wardroom for the next meal.

Wednesday night is poker night for the officers of Foxtrot Coy. Brett has joined CPT Eschenberg, LT Bell the Coy XO, LT Ells of 2nd Platoon, LT Kowalski of 1st Platoon, and LT Yates of the Weapons Platoon in the Captains quarters. Life as an officer in the USMC can be lonely. The need to maintain a command presence naturally inhibits any strong bonds from forming between the enlisted men and themselves. The weekly meetings allow these five men a chance to relax among peers.

“Sir, you hear any news of when we might be leaving”, Castlebury asked CPT Eschenberg.

“No shop talk! We are here so I can take your money”, Kowalski interupted.

“Yeah, deal the cards for pity sakes”, Ells commented.

“OK, gentlemen. The game is five card draw, Jacks or better to open, nothing wild”, Brett said as he dealt.

“Unlike you, Kowalski, I can both play cards and talk at the same time”, CPT Eschenberg retorted. “To answer you question, Castlebury, I don't have a firm date but this will likely be our last full month on this Godforsaken rock. Five”

The Enterprise task force had moved into the harbor to take its turn refueling from the oilers. The other three CVTF circled around the island keeping watchful eye for enemy activity. They were most concerned with submarines after the AO had been sunk a few days ago. Several had been spotted as the four TFs moved north. Once, again, this likely meant their presence was known to the Japanese. Australian patrol aircraft had spotted what they thought was Japanese carriers at Rabaul. Unfortunately, enemy fighters drove them off before they could get close enough to verify the sighting.

LT(jg) James West had launched just before Enterprise had headed in to refuel. Scuttlebutt was that once all four carriers had full bunkers, they would make a high speed run at Rabaul. For the first time in the war, there was genuine excitement among the air crews of the Carrier Air Groups on board. They would finally be getting their chance to get back at the Japs.

James completed his search pattern and turned back towards the carrier. He entered the pattern as he approached the ship having the “fortunate” distinction of being the last plane in line. Landing was uneventful and he made his way towards the ready room to debrief. He stopped just as he was about go down the steps. He glanced backward and realized the ship was not turning northwest as expected but instead was heading south.

“Not good”, he said to no one in particular.

No one in the ready room knew what was up with the change in plans. Supposedly there had been some flash traffic ordering the carriers back to New Zealand. Something was up but, for now, the men of VS-6 were in the dark

“The squadron is stood down immediately” LCDR Underwood said. “All planes are to have a complete maintenance check and be prepared for a long over water flight. Expect to be deployed any time after 0700 on 9 February. That is all”

Hank Tyler found himself with a divided mind. Part of him was concerned with getting his plane ready for what was obviously going to be a stressful flight. The other part was thinking about Emily Stebbins and how he had really just met her and how this was going to screw thins up just when they were getting started. He was making his way to the pier where his PBY was moored to talk with Judd about the preparations. Simultaneously, he was thinking about how he could get to a telephone to call Emily. Hank stopped dead in his tracks and took a deep breath.

“Get a hold of yourself, Tyler”, the voice in his head said.

Hank forced himself to put thoughts of Emily to the back of his head. He was first and foremost a Navy pilot. The safety of his aircraft and his crew were his primary responsibility. He was not about to let himself “screw the pooch” over some girl he just met. He picked up his pace as he made his way down to the PBY. It was going to be a hectic three days.

The urgency to get the destroyers upgraded was only growing. The German Navy's U-boats were operating right off the US East Coast. Dozens of merchant ships, most of them unarmed, had been sunk in the USN's backyard. It was an embarrassment to nation and the Navy in particular. LT(jg) Greg Cummins had just heard that the unarmed tanker China Arrow had been sunk off the Winter Quarter Lightship two days ago. That was less than 150 miles from where his was sitting at this very moment.

When the War had started it seemed far away. Yes, Greg had read the stories in the paper and seen the photographs of Pearl Harbor. Everyone had. Even though he knew where places like Manila and Hong Kong were on the map, those places were merely mental concepts to him. Having US shipping being sunk a little over 100 NM away was concrete!. The war was here and no one had any delusions that the USN was winning at this point in time

“Up scope”, LCDR Smith orders. “Clear”, he reports after scanning the surface through the periscope.

“Surface, Surface”, LT Phelps orders.

The boat slowly rises until it begins to break the ocean's surface. PO1 Timmons undogs the hatch to the conning tower and begins to make his way up the ladder. Without warning, the sound of clanking metal fills the sub. Timmons stiffens then falls back down the ladder. Smith pulls him out of the way and redogs the hatch.

“Take her down, take her down”, Smith screams.

“DIVE, DIVE!”, LT Phelps barks.

Before any man in the control room can begin to respond to the order the bomb hits. In actuality it does not hit Swordfish in the technical sense of the term. Instead it lands in the ocean just twenty yards off the boat's port bow and explods on impact. The resulting shock wave lifts the bow out of the water for a brief moment. The sub heals over to the starboard as she crashes back down and immediately begins to settle.

“Flooding in the forward torpedo room!”, comes an unidentified voice over the 1MC.

“Mr. Haskins, go forward to assess the damage”, LCDR Smith orders

“Aye, sir”, DJ replies as he gathered his bearings.

He makes his way forward as the boat's emergency lights come on. Already he can sense a noticeable down angle to the boat's trim. He doesn't need to see it to know the flooding is serious. When he reaches the door to the forward torpedo room he is already up to his knees in cold sea water. The port side torpedo rack is a tangled mess with the rear of lowest torpedo actually sitting on the deck. DJ thinks it is a miracle the fish didn't go “hot” after the explosion. The forward torpedo crew is desperately trying to free a man trapped in the wreckage. The water is nearly up to the man's chin. Chief Yates is directing the men to get chains around the upset torpedo in an effort to get the weight off the twisted metal that is pinning the man.

“Better get a move on, Chief”, Haskins yells over the rush of water. “We are going to need to secure this compartment soon”

“Aye, sir.”, he replies as he screams at the men. “Put you backs into it boys. We gotta get going”.

The men groan as they pull in unison. The torpedo moves slightly but not enough. DJ can see the terror on the trapped man's face as the water is now up to his mouth.

“Pull now or this man dies”, screams the Chief.

The torpedo moves upward slightly as Yates grabs the man under his arms and pulls him free

“Everybody out, now!”, DJ orders.

The men all trudge their way through the hip deep water and leave the room. Three men fight the hatched closed while Yates dogs it shut. Haskins is only then told that three men are already dead in the forward room. They had been killed or trapped beyond rescue when the bomb hit. He makes his way back to the control room.

“Forward torpedo room is completely flooded but sealed off, sir”, he says out of breath. “Three dead and one seriously injured.”

“Any chance we can repair the damage on the surface?”, Smith asks.

“Unlikely sir”, DJ answers. “I couldn't get a good look but it appears the entire port hull is deformed inward in that area”

LT Phelps, meanwhile is directing the efforts to get the boat back in neutral trim. With the forward torpedo room now filled with water this is not an easy feat. Still, DJ can sense the deck slowly coming to level beneath his feet. He glances over at the depth gauge. It reads just over 200 ft and is still slowly falling.

“Sir”, Phelps says with obvious urgency in his voice. “We have neutral trim but she is still settling. There is little to no response on the bow planes. We're going to have to surface soon.”

His words fall coldly across the control room. If that patrol plane was still up there, Swordfish wouldn't stand much of a chance on the surface. The is no other option. Either they take their chances on the surface or slowly sink until the weight of the ocean depths crushes the sub like a tin can.

With the weight of the extra water forward, the sub sub no longer has the ability to surface in the normal controlled manner. No matter the inputs to the controls, the massive counter weight wants to pull the bow down and into the abyss. All remaining ballast is ejected from the tanks and the remaining control surfaces are angled to force the nose of the boat towards the surface. The submarine accelerates in hopes that the forward momentum will be directed by the still working stern planes to drive the boat to the relative safety above. At first it seems as if the sub is not responding, but slowly the men can sense the bow rising as they watch the depth gauge slowly indicate Swordfish is getting shallower.

It takes twenty minutes but the sub finally breaks the surface. LCDR Smith is first through the hatch and is followed by several men ready to man the machine guns if needed. Thankfully, the patrol aircraft has departed likely under the impression that Swordfish has succumbed to her wounds. LCDR Smith orders a course towards Bataan. It might not be the safest place to be heading but it is the nearest friendly harbor.

The pumps are not keeping up. Even though the bulk of the damaged part of the sub has been sealed off, there are numerous small cracks and popped seams that continue to ooze water. There is risk of something far more dangerous than sinking if that is possible. If the water level rises enough to start flooding the battery compartments, the sea water could cause a sudden release of deadly chlorine gas. If that happens, the crew of Swordfish will be asphyxiated almost instantly.

1400

The boat's bow is digging deep into the waves. Each successful crash brings the threat that the sub will plunge downward and not right herself. With the present level of flooding, that would mean an unending dive to the bottom. LT(jg) DJ Haskins is in the forward battery compartment checking the water level. Sea water is now within a foot of the bottom of the batteries. Swordfish is losing her battle for survival. With each wave, he and the rest of the crew say a little prayer waiting for the bow to rise on the other side of the crest.

“Come on, baby, you can do it”, DJ whispers then sighs as he feels the bow rise again.

1700

There is no more time. The sub is going to sink soon. With less than an hour of daylight left, LCDR Smith knows getting the men off will be a lot easier before the sun sets. Unbelievably, the sub has not been overflown by Japanese patrol bombers today. He calls his officers together on deck. Each man is assigned a section of the crew for which he will be responsible. A signal is sent to COMSUBPAC as to the boat's condition and position. The order to abandon ship is then passed.

The rubber life rafts are brought up on deck and inflated. One is placed over each side and the waves are timed carefully as the men jumped aboard. DJ is in charge of the second boat off the port side. LCDR Smith has the last boat on the port and LT Phelps has the last boat on the starboard. On board with DJ is Torpedoman Fred Davis, the man who was trapped under the wreckage yesterday. Davis has a broken left leg and some cracked ribs but he is holding up well all things considered. Pharmacist Mate Gene Lashey is on board DJ's boat to tend to Davis. DJ watches as the last two boats cast off from the sub. Without warning the stern tips up and the boat quickly plunges beneath the waves. Many of the men on the raft openly weep as she disappears. Swordfish's career lasts but three years, one month, and five days

LCDR Smith calls to DJ to have him move the boats closer together. Haskins relays the order to the boat behind him. The man began to paddle but the seas are working against them. As the light fades, the three boats have closed to within a dozen yards of one another. The skipper orders lines to be passed to try to keep the boats together but makes sure they are loose enough so that if one boat founders it will not take the other two with it. The three boats launched from the starboard side can not be located as night descends. It is going to be the longest night of the their lives.

LCDR William Wright stood on the bridge of the submarine Sturgeon. His radio operator had decoded the outgoing distress message from Swordfish the previous day. His boat was within 40 miles of the reported position and he ordered her to make best speed in hopes of finding survivors. Arriving in a pitch black night in heavy seas, Wright ordered his boat to zigzag across the last known position of her stricken sister. Finally the sun was rising and hopes of finding at least some of Swordfish's crew rose with it.

His XO, LT Lake saw them first. Three small rafts tied together less than 2000 yards off the starboard beam. Wright ordered Sturgeon to close. He maneuvered the boat around so as to come up on the rafts facing into the seas. Skillfully, he slowed the sub to just be making steerage. The crew carefully helped the men out of the rafts onto the pitching deck. Wright could tell there was an injured man in the second boat. He grimaced as he was carefully passed from the men on the raft to the waiting hands on deck. Finally the last raft was being unloaded. The last man off looked up at Wright on the bridge. It was LCDR Smith, the Swordfish's captain.

(Author's note: I was really a little upset when the progressive flooding and then sinking message flashed across for Swordfish. Then I opened the turn file and Sturgeon was sitting in the exact hex of Swordfish's demise. I figured it was providence. Just wanted you to know that I didn't alter the game to fit the story. It was actaully the exact opposite.)

LT(jg) Hank Tyler and Emily Stebbins were walking up the street towards her family's home. They had enjoyed a nice dinner at the Whitcomb Hotel, but both of them were not in the mood for a movie tonight. They walked slowly mostly in silence. Neither of them could find the right words to say, and fear of saying the wrong thing kept them tacit.

“Emily”, Hank said awkwardly. “I know we just met. I have no idea where I am going and if I did, I couldn't tell you anyway. I would never think to ask you to wait for me considering we have only known each other for a few weeks. Its just that ….”

“Hank”, she said sweetly. “You don't have to ask me to wait for you because I have already decided that I will”.

“Wow”, he almost gasped. “I didn't see that coming”

“Now you need to promise me, LT Henry Tyler of the US Navy that you won't go off to far off exotic places and fall in love with some dark eyed Polynesian girl or the deal is off”, Emily said sternly.

“Miss Emily Stebbins of the San Francisco Stebbinses”, he said taking her hand. “I hereby pledge my faithfulness to you and promise that I will return to you post haste”, he said mockingly.

“So its is said, so shall it be done”, she pronounced in the same tone.

“Emily”, Hank said. “I want you to keep something for me”

He slid his Academy ring off his right hand and handed it to her.

“Its the only thing of real value I own”, he said. “Please keep it safe”

“I will”, she said

She kissed him then turned to run up to her door. She did not want him to see the tears. She had promised herself that she would not cry in front of him.

The sleepy little port at the southern tip of the North Island had become the home away from home for the US Navy's carrier fleet. The near constant Japanese submarine sightings up near Auckland made it a necessity. Already the I-boats had claimed dozens of merchant vessels and auxiliaries. To date, no USN warship had fallen prey to a sub attack and Admiral Halsey intended to keep it that way.

Word had gotten out that some intelligence weenie had gotten scent that the Japanese were going to make a move on Fiji. The Enterprise and her cohorts would sortie in a few days to meet up with a large troop convoy coming down from the West Coast. It seems the powers that be had finally drawn a line in the sand. While none of the pilots were excited about the prospect that they would be herding a bunch of merchies, it helped to know that they would be finally doing something besides steaming in endless circles around the South Pacific.

LT(jg) Greg Cummins is looking over the final assembly of several K-gun depth charge launchers. A rather simple device he thought. It is really nothing more than an overgrown smooth bore musket. The shot in this case is an arbor that holds the depth charge. When the breech charge is fired the expanding gases shoot the arbor with attached depth charge out away from the ship. Even if simple, the K-gun would vastly improve the USN's ASW effectiveness. Instead of having to drive the ship over the exact position of the sub to drop depth charges off stern rails, the K-guns would allow destroyers and other ASW vessels to fire large patterns covering nearly an eighth mile circle.

Greg found himself with a growing hatred for submarines. All the sinkings of merchant shipping right off the US coast had made it personal to him. When he finally got the combat billet he had been jonesing for, he hoped it would be a destroyer. He was looking forward to killing a few U-boats to settle some scores. Greg even found that he disliked the USN submariners. He figured he takes a certain type of sneaky, low-life to even volunteer for sub duty.

The men of 3rd platoon were gathered for mail call. Some of the married men and those with girls back home were hoping for something for Valentine's Day. While the US military mail was no where near that predictable, some men did actually receive a package from their wives or sweethearts. One poor sap had received a tin of sugar cookies from his grandmother. The men in his squad gathered around him were giving him all sorts of grief and making kissing sounds.

“All right, you next one of you who makes a smart ass remark is not getting a cookie”, the embattled Marine said.

With that the group went silent. The tin was open and each man in the squad was handed one of the golden treasures. The Marine approach LT Castlebury.

“Lieutenant?”, he said with his hand outstretched with a cookie.

“Thank you, Private”, Brett replied taking the cookie.

He had thought about refusing out of courtesy. Then he looked at the men who all received one already, and they were all in a state of bliss as the munched their gift. He took a small bite so as to savor it. The private's grandmother should be proud. It may have been the best cookie he had ever eaten. Brett looked around the room and to a man, each recipient had a distant look on his face. They were all back home in their minds. It was amazing how something as simple as a sugar cookie could be so powerful.

LT(jg) Greg Cummins was enjoying a rare day off. The Washington weather had moderated and it almost felt like spring. After the 1000 Mass, he decided to go for a walk. He made his way west up Maine Street SW. After about 1000 yards the road took a little jog to the right and magically became Maine Ave SW. Greg was sure that made sense to some city planner long ago but it just seemed odd to him. He continued walking along the northeast shore of the Tidal basal and then turned slightly left towards the Jefferson Memorial.

He looked across the Potomac at the new War Department Building. Work had started just six months ago on the building most people just called The Pentagon because of its unique shape. Oddly, it was designed that way because the original site was a pentagon shape plot. The site was changed as President Roosevelt feared it would block the sight lines from Arlington National Cemetery to Washington DC. Even though the new sight was no longer odd shaped the building's original design concept was retained as architectural work had already begun. Already the building was taking shape with several sections outwardly appearing complete. Greg new that was deceiving because most of the time spent constructing any building was in completing the interior structures. Even in its partially complete state, the building was impressive. When complete, it was said it would be the largest building in the world. Greg believed that wasn't just hyperbole because it was a massive structure.

He reversed course and made his way back toward the Yard. It was good for him to get out he realized. It had occurred to him that he had been arriving at work predawn and leaving after dark every day now for over a month. He could feel the rejuvenating effect of some fresh air and sunshine on his mind and body.

VP-51 was getting itself settled in Hawaii. LCDR Underwood had warned the men not to get too comfortable as their stay would not be long. Things were moving in the South Pacific and once the proper infrastructure was in place, the squadron would be heading south. In the mean time, they found themselves literally in a tropical paradise. Kane'ohe sat on the opposite side of Oahu from Honolulu and Pearl Harbor. Picture post cards and even the most effusive prose could not do justice to the beauty of this place. It was truly something that had to be experienced in person to appreciate.

That is until you turn you eyes to the base itself. Even more than three months since the Pearl Harbor attack, it still bears the scars of the Japanese handiwork. One hangar had been completely destroyed in the attack. The others had all been damaged to some extent. Repairs were being completed as quickly as was possible but were far from complete. At one end of the air field there is a pile of twisted wreckage that if you examined closely you could make out the bits and pieces of PBYs that had been destroyed in the raid. Every now and then the wind shifts just right wafting the bitter odor of burnt wood, rubber, and oil.

Even the personnel at the base act differently. The men of VP-51 feel they are outsiders among those who have actually experienced war, experienced combat, and most importantly experienced death. The men of Kane'ohe are not deliberately being rude. The are just in a different place mentally and emotionally from the new arrivals. Only after VP-51 has experienced combat themselves will they would be accepted into this brotherhood. Until then, they will remain invisibly separated from the rest of the men stationed at the base.

The carriers had put into port just long enough to take on a few aircraft. The Navy had manage to get a few F4F-3 and SBD-3 down here to flesh out some of the air groups. Unfortunately, there were not enough Wildcats to upgrade Lexington's VF. Few had any doubts what would happen if the F2A's were to go against a modern fighter like the Zero. LT(jg) West guesses the Navy brass figures even a few outdated fighters were better than nothing at all.

Once again shore leave was not granted to the disappointment of the men aboard the ships. This time it was in the name of expediency rather than fear the sailors would irreparably harm the city of Auckland. Many of them had been at see for nearly three months now. The rigors of near constant alert status was wearing on the men. James felt the worst for the men on the destroyers accompanying the carriers. Even in heavy seas, a CV is a relatively stable ship. He had watched the little ships fighting through each wave from the deck of Enterprise during a heavy blow. It was painful to watch and he was sure it was even worse to experience live and in person.

Scuttlebutt was that it would be some time before the CVTF saw extended time in port. Rumor was that they would be heading out in a few days to escort a convoy of troops to Fiji. James did the math in his head and came to an ugly conclusion. It would likely be more than a month before they would have a chance to truly put into port.

LT(jg) Greg Cummins had driven down from DC to meet with the engineers at the yard to go over the plans for upgrading the destroyers. While the bulk of the meeting was spent going over the Sims class, they now had turned their attention to the remaining classes.

“Are you sure about the placement of the K-guns on the Benhams?”, the chief engineer asked Greg. “It doesn't allow for much working space”

“I understand your misgivings but there really is not another way”, Greg replied hiding his annoyance.

He had spent hours pouring over these blueprints and in meetings with CPT Lawrence's team. The Benhams and several other classes all had the same issue with the torpedo tubes. To Greg's shock, the final decision involved reducing the torpedo battery in a couple of classes. The successful submarine campaigns by both the German and Japanese navies had forced a doctrinal shift in the US Navy as to the purpose of destroyers. While retaining most of their capability to engage enemy surface ships, the need for more effective ASW platforms dictated the change in armament. No dyed in the wool destroyer captain would be happy about giving up some of his torpedoes, but expediency said that the USN “tin cans” were going to fill multiple roles now. Trade offs were going to have to be made to make that happen.

“If you say so, Lieutenant”, the engineer replied. “I just fix them. Its up to guys like you to fight them”.

Greg laughed to himself at that comment. The only thing he had been fighting so far was the Navy bureaucracy. A battle he was winning now that he thought about it. The fact that there was a war on certainly aided his efforts. A project such as this one would have taken a year or more during peace time. Greg had pulled it together in less than six weeks.

1st LT Brett Castlebury is leading 3rd Platoon on patrol southeast of Reykjavik. There is a steady, cold rain falling as they trudge along. While the men are mostly silent, an occasional complaint or wise crack about the weather can be heard rising from the ranks. They stop for a brief rest at the end of their patrol route. The rain actually intensifies as the men stand in small groups. The griping gets a little louder and more frequent as they form up for the return trip.

“What's a matter boys, afraid the rain is going to ruin your hair dos?”, MSGT Wilson yells out as he walks slowly along the ranks.

“Well, you know what my Daddy told me when I was growing up?”, he asked.

“There's only two things that melt in rain: **** and sugar.”, Wilson continued staring each man down as he passed. “And sugar you ain't”

“Lieutenant Castlebury”, Wilson bellowed.

“Yes, Master Sergeant”, Brett answered appreciatively. He could tell the sergeant was just warming up.

“I believe some of these boys have forgotten why they are here”, he continued. “It seems some of them have forgotten they are U-nit-ted States Ma-rines. It seems some of them are under the impression that they are here on vacation at the expense of the US government. Some of them have expressed disappointment with the weather conditions we have provided for there little excursion into the Icelandic countryside”.

“Is that so, Master Sergeant?”, Castlebury said playing along. “What do you propose we do about this little situation”.

“Well, Lieutenant”, Wilson shouted. “I believe a double time march back to the barracks is just the thing these pansy-assed bunch of girl scouts need to remind them that they part of the finest military organization this world has ever seen.”

Sergeant Wilson called out as the started. The Marines joined in refrain

“MaaMaMa cant you see? What this corp has done for me. Put me in a barbers chair, SNIP SNAP and I had no hair. And if I die in a combat zone, Box me up and ship me home. Put me in a set of dress blues, Comb my hair and shine my shoes. Pin my medals upon my chest, Tell my mama I did my best. MaaMaMa don't you cry, Marine Corp Motto is do or die!”

(Note: not sure if this cadence was used in WWI or not but seemed appropo for this scene. Apologies to any USMC Vets if I erred)

The difference between Kane'ohe and San Francisco is like night and day. At SF, VP-51 had the aviation portion of the base to themselves. VP-44 was flying out of Alameda NAS across the bay. Here in Hawaii, they are sharing space with five full Patrol Squadrons plus a portion of a sixth. The is nearly continuous air operations from before dawn until after dark. Fortunately, there is lots of support here as the base had been converted for the expressed purpose of supporting PBY operations. There were multiple ramps to move the planes in and out of the water with dozens of trolleys used to move the planes around while not on the water. Two of the three hangars had been sufficiently repaired to allow for twenty-four hour maintenance work to be done. VP-51 was not part of the regular operational routine as they were only temporarily assigned to the base. However, there were called upon now and again to cover areas assigned to one of the other squadrons if there was a breakdown.

LT(jg) Hank Tyler is flying one of those missions this morning. His assigned patrol area was almost exactly due south of Oahu. His outbound course takes him close enough to Pearl Harbor that he can get a good look. Even now more than three months after the attack the damage is evident. Oklahoma still lays inverted at the end of Battleship Row. The hulk of Arizona is still oozing fuel oil such that a huge slick is evident as the PBY passes the anchorage to the south and east. The seven remaining battle ships are in various stages of repair. One has been pulled into dry dock while two remain wallowed in the mud in the same positions they were at before the attack.

The other thing that is notable is how much activity there is around Oahu. When he flew out Treasure Island, he would often see no sign of a military presence once he passed the coast. Here, the sky is filled with both Army and Marine fighters. As he passes the coast he can see no fewer than two ASW task forces patrolling the approaches to the harbor. Once out over the ocean he sees several convoys either on there way out or returning to the island. He even catches sight of a USN submarine returning from patrol. The War seemed so far away when they were at San Francisco. Here they is no way to avoid it even if Hank tried.